The Joker and Mr Zsasz
by wbss21
Summary: What happens when the Joker plays a prank on Mr. Zsasz?  Long one-shot.


**So this is just a fun little one shot I did. Hope you guys like it.**

**The Joker and Mr. Zsasz:**

During the holiday season, the general mood amongst employees of Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane was a bitter one. Bitter and contemptuous. Most especially during Christmas. It couldn't be said _anyone_ enjoyed time spent "babysitting" the city's most notorious sociopaths, psychopaths, schizophrenics and whatever _else_ the institutes doctors had diagnosed them as, not when that time was meant to be shared with family and friends. But a job at Arkham was a secure job, secure in that it was nearly impossible to get yourself fired. And it paid well. _Very_ well. Any position. Even janitorial. Security guards, nurses and orderlies in particular were offered an absurdly handsome benefits package and a more then generous weekly salary. If you were a doctor there, it had been estimated their yearly income was some 20 % higher then that of medical practitioners in any other institute from around the country.

In other words, a job at the asylum was an appealing one, despite the obvious risks. And if you wanted to keep whatever position you had there, you would comply when asked to work shifts during Christmas or New Years.

Still, nobody who'd been unlucky enough to be asked during these times ever found themselves exhibiting the holiday spirit. If anything, it made their already unpleasant attitudes more foul, and many of them, in particular the security staff, found themselves looking for any and every excuse to use disciplinary action.

Another reason for the staff's increased displeasure was the same reason why the inmates themselves loved the holiday season.

A few years back, the asylum doctors had taken a vote, and concluded it would do good for the institute's patients to be allowed out and a chance to socialize with one another during these special occasions. They thought it might help incorporate a sense of normalcy in what was otherwise a wholly unnatural state.

The decision included and actually pertained most to Arkham's most dangerous inmates. Those kept in 24 hour lock down and surveillance, isolated from population. Those allowed out of their cells only when being transferred to therapy or when one had some medical problem that needed attending.

This alone put the Arkham staff on edge.

But it was mandate.

And so, on Christmas day, at precisely 7 AM, lights on, the guards went about gathering everyone from their cells and brining them to the asylum cafeteria, where it was planned they would have a holiday breakfast. From there, they would be allowed in the rec. room for exactly two hours, and then, after being brought back to their cells, once night had fallen, they'd be allowed out again, back to the cafeteria for a holiday dinner.

Originally, in years previous, they'd been allowed out in to the courtyard, but that idea was quickly abandoned when a snow ball fight had broken out and one patient wound up dead. One of them, though they never found out who, had apparently filled their snow ball with rocks and thrown it with enough precisian and power for the blow to be fatal.

So now, it was just breakfast and dinner, with fun time in the rec. room. The time in between these events and directly after was reserved for those residents less threatening.

The patients were told the night before that if any of their behavior deviated from standard procedure, the day's activities would be canceled and they would promptly be sent back to their cells.

The nurses and orderlies, trying as always to keep spirits high, had arranged throughout the entire asylum, Christmas decorations, with wreaths and holly and tinsel spread out along the walls and wrapped about stair banisters, hanging from the ceilings rafters and so on.

The two guard's charged with moving Jarvis Tetch, also known as The Mad Hatter, had rolled their eyes when the inmate had oohed and ahhed at the display and asked with enthusiasm if there were going to be any children.

"No Jarvis." One of them answered. "Same as last year. Now keep moving."

The short man has sulked the rest of the way to the cafeteria.

Inside the dining area, the majority of inmates had already been gathered, sitting quietly alongside one another in groups of four at different tables around the room.

Jarvis found himself seated at a table with Edward Nigma, The Riddler, Arnold Wesker, The Ventriloquist, and Humphry Dumpler, Humpty Dumpty. Basically, this was the table reserved for those thought less threatening, but still included among Arkham's high risk populace. Level 7 patients, they were called.

Nigma looked displeased, gazing around the room in apparent disgust.

Wesker, as always, seemed timid and shy, his gaze cast downward, to the table.

Dumpler was much the same. He was nothing more then a grown man with the seeming mental faculties of a ten year old boy who felt an inexplicable compulsion to repair that which he thought broken. Thus his nick-name. He'd been sent to Arkham when it was discovered he'd dismembered his abusive grandmother in an attempt to "fix her". Because he was absurdly large and incredibly strong, despite his otherwise friendly and kind nature, he was determined dangerous, and so grouped in with the rest of them.

Jarvis began speaking to Edward and was promptly ignored as the riddle obsessed inmate settled his eyes on the table just three away from his own.

There sat Harvey Dent, Two-Face, Pamela Isly, Poison Ivy, Harleen Quinzell, Harley Quinn, and Jonathan Crane, The Scarecrow. All of them were considered level 9 threats, the highest risk patients, excepting Harley. She was level 8, if only because, generally, she was well behaved and sociable, unlike the others, who, overall, seemed to hate everyone. Still, Harley was considered highly dangerous, and so there she sat.

Table after table held countless others inmates, all there for having committed some crime violent in nature. Most of them weren't what the media liked to call "costumed-criminals". They didn't dress up in fancy outfits, they didn't display some outlandish, eye-catching MO, they didn't have a shtick. And so, by in large, they remained nameless and faceless to the citizens of Gotham.

And then, of course, there were those patients considered too dangerous to sit with anyone, and they were placed by themselves, at tables separated by one other empty.

There was Waylon Jones, Killer Croc, who sat near the rooms exit and remained shackled along the wrists and ankles, surrounded by five guards, all holding tazer guns, presumably set to high. Croc was a hulking beast of a man. Barely a man at all. And as the staff at Arkham had learned about him early on, he'd have preferred to eat you rather then talk.

So while he'd be allowed to partake in the special meals being prepared for the day, and even allowed in the rec. room to watch television, he was kept separated from the other inmates.

Then there was Victor Zsasz, Mr. Zsasz. A serial killer obsessed with body count. For each victim he'd killed, and there had been _many_, he'd carved a tally mark for them in to his own skin, four tallies together and one slashed diagonally through to count five. He was covered in them.

And then, The Joker.

Unlike Croc and Zsasz, who each had displayed extreme anti-social personality disorder, it wasn't because The Joker was incapable of conversing with others in a civil, conducive manner that he was kept by himself. It was actually quite the opposite.

The Joker was _too_ good at talking to people. Over the years, whenever he'd been allowed interaction with them, he'd incited countless riots amongst the house residents, and every time it had been nothing short of an unmitigated disaster.

With personalities as unstable and violent as the ones kept in Arkham, just _one _stepping out of bounds was enough to cause an explosion, and it never was long before all control was lost.

The Joker never became entangled in the riots himself. He would say something to someone which he knew would set them off, causing them to lose their temper and attack either him or another patient. Of course, he always knew when he himself was the cause of their displeasure, and so would always avoid any assault, ducking away just in time, and inevitably, which the staff was sure The Joker intended all along, the blow would land on someone else, and a mass fight would ensue. During these times, it had been observed, The Joker often sat back, wearing a face-splitting grin, watching the chaos erupt around him. Other times, the worst of times, he'd taken the opportunity to escape, simply _walking out_ amongst all the confusion.

What's more, The Joker was highly unstable; and highly unpredictable. There'd been many an occasion in which, without any apparent cause, the madman had simply lost his temper. It was impossible to know what would set him off, as more often then not, his eruptions were instigated by what seemed nothing at all. Sometimes it occurred while he was talking to someone, or someone was talking to him, having what appeared a normal, even cordial conversation. Sometimes it occurred when he was doing nothing but standing there, with no one at all engaging him.

And when that happened, he became frighteningly violent. In those instances, The Joker had killed both employees and patients alike, anyone unfortunate enough to be near him at the time, either with his bare hands, or worse, when he'd somehow gotten hold of a weapon. And with The Joker, a weapon could be crafted from nearly anything.

Generally, even when in his cell, the lunatic was kept restrained within a straight jacket and chains. Outside, he _always _was kept in some form of restraint.

Except on these special occasions, in which the doctors, in what most of the staff had deemed their foolery, charged that only Killer Croc would need to remain shackled. They thought, to keep The Joker and others in cuffs or straight jackets during the day's activities would defeat the purpose of what they had suggested was a form of therapy.

The asylum employees thought it unforgivably naive. But Arkham's doctors had greater authority then anyone else who worked there.

Nevertheless, the policy now, and for the last several years, had been that The Joker wasn't allowed contact with anyone outside the staff.

If it were up to them, they would have preferred not to let The Joker out at all, and certainly not have allowed him participation in these sorts of events.

But The Joker, as he'd been quick and all too enthused to inform everyone of, adored the holidays, and the staff knew better then to piss him off by keeping him from experiencing any sort of celebration which everyone else was allowed to enjoy. If they did, they knew, he'd make those responsible pay. They'd learned that the hard way when, on the second year of the custom, because he'd attacked another patient some three weeks earlier, he wasn't allowed to join in. Four weeks later, The Joker had talked one of his regular rotation guards in to killing himself and killed, personally, two others, along with an orderly before escaping. All four employees had decided amongst themselves to punish The Joker by banning his presence from the festivities and, somehow, he'd found out it was them.

So now he was allowed, whether he had any privileges in place at the time or not, which, most often, he did not.

The Riddler so then found himself perplexed when, looking around the cafeteria, he couldn't spot The Joker anywhere.

Finally he gave Jarvis his attention.

"Tetch." He began. "Where is The Joker? Do you know?"

The Hatter looked at him in silence, his expression dumb and confused and Edward had to fight to keep from rolling his eyes.

"Haven't a clue." He finally answered, before going back to whatever he'd been droning on about for the last ten minutes.

Edward looked away, continuing to scan the room. He didn't even bother asking Arnold or the giant dunderhead beside him.

And then there was the sound of laughter, just outside the cafeteria doors, and there was no mistaking who it belonged to.

Moments later and the doors swung wide, three guards coming through first, followed by two others, flanking either side of The Joker, with two more taking up the rear.

The Joker was talking, and smiling, and everyone was quick to notice as he entered.

What they noticed next was that he wore a red Santa hat, a puffy, white ball, dangling from its end.

He was going on to the men surrounding him about how happy he was that they'd let him have the hat, which, apparently, he'd noticed hung along a wall on the way from his cell here. He was thanking them as though truly grateful. What was scary was how completely genuine he sounded.

None of them responded, but each looked unhappy, each wearing frowns as they moved him along to a table past Killer Crocs, then three further down. The Joker greeted everyone he past with enthusiasm, saying their names loudly and with excitement before cracking some silly joke. He did this, roughly, to half a dozen inmates before he reached his own table and was forced by the guard's to sit.

Nearly all eyes in the room were on the self-styled Clown Prince as a cacophony of sharp whispers erupted throughout the room.

The Joker looked back, grinning.

"MISTHA J!" Harley's shrill, high pitched voice shot through the air. "PUDDIN'!" She jumped up, waving her arms frantically before being quickly pushed back down by a guard.

"He winked at me! Didja' see it Red? He winked at me!" She practically squealed to Ivy.

The red head sighed.

The Joker hadn't even seemed to notice Harley as he looked about.

"Please, please, hold your applause." He said, loud enough for his voice to carry across the room. "There's no need. Your admiration is _already_ quite apparent."

The Riddler rolled his eyes then.

God, he _hated_ The Joker.

"I saw that Nigma!" He heard The Joker yell across to him.

Immediately his eyes went wide, his face draining of color.

And The Joker laughed loudly.

Edward turned away then, muttering bitterly to himself.

"Stupidsonofabitch…"

"Alright now, everyone, settle down!" A woman at the end of the cafeteria's North side, Patricia Little, head of kitchen staff and event coordinator for the day, called out. "I know you're all excited. And I promise, we've got some _very fun_ activities planned for today. But I need you all to _settle down_!"

Finally, everyone did, turning their attention towards her.

She smiled, though those most observant among the group could see that it was forced.

"Alright then. As most of you know, I'm sure, today is Christmas day, and as we've done for several years previous, we've scheduled an array of festivities… for your enjoyment. First on the docket, as you may have guessed already, is an early Christmas breakfast. Now, we've prepared a lovely meal for everyone here, with special care taken for those with specific dietary needs."

"That's you Croc!" A voice from the crowd called, followed by the room exploding in to laughter.

"Who said that!" Croc snarled. "I'll eat your _bones_!"

But everyone just kept laughing. That's when Croc moved to get up, enraged, and the five guards surrounding him were quick to act, not hesitating to lay their tazers against his scaly skin.

The deformed man screamed in pain, falling immediately back to his chair, the noise of the place growing.

"Everyone… Everyone PLEASE!" Patricia tried to make her voice heard over the commotion. "Everyone please… SETTLE DOWN!"

It would take several minutes more and some strong arming by the guards before the bickering died down and everyone's attention settled back on Ms. Little.

She breathed heavily through her nose and mouth, clear exasperation across her face.

"Harassment of other patients will _not _be tolerated! Is that understood!"

She threw her gaze around the room, trying her best to look hard.

Nobody responded.

"Any other incidents like the one which just occurred, and all plans for the day will be canceled!"

Again, silence.

"Okay then." She finally breathed. "Now, what we're going to have you all do is form a single file line, right up here." She gestured towards a stainless steel counter, which opened up on top to a window, where the kitchen cooks stood, ready to serve an already pre-cooked meal. "There are _paper _trays for each of you, waiting in stacks there." She pointed towards the right end of the counter. "You each will take _one _and proceed in an orderly fashion past the window, where your food will be served. From there, you will return to whichever seat you've been assigned. Alright?"

Silence.

"Alright!" Patricia clasped her hands together, again forcing a smile.

"Once you've all finished, a guard will come around to collect your trays and sporks, and then, we've put together a special arrangement of some wonderful Christmas _cookies_, which our chefs have been kind enough to create for you from scratch, set up on a table to be located at room's center. You'll be allowed _free access_ to the treats table. So no lines. You _will_, however, be allowed no more then _two_ cookies each before being required to return to your tables. Any pushing, shoving, fighting or general disruption, and _no one_ will be allowed treats. Am I clear?"

Things proceeded quickly from there, with Killer Croc being led first and to the front of the line. There was mutterings and bitter complaints from some of the inmates over the perceived specialized treatment, but nothing came of it. Everyone knew Croc _had _to have first dibs on any food served within a group. He otherwise had a tendency to grow impatient, which led to him growing violent.

And nobody wanted that.

Well, no one but The Joker who, in the past, any time such had happened, had laughed as though it were the most amusing moment he'd ever beheld.

Croc, apparently, was eager as food was slopped on to his tray, drool already dripping down his chin, everyone else lined up behind him, waiting. Croc was given only pre-sliced turkey strips and bacon.

Instead of what would regularly be a cup of water, apple juice was served.

Behind him directly was Mr. Zsasz, who was given instead scrambled eggs, two links of sausage, three strips of bacon, creamed corn and an unbuttered biscuit. The same as what most every one else would get. He took it with a sly smirk, eyeing intently his server.

The man looked nervously away.

"N-next." He managed, swallowing hard.

"Move it along Zsasz!" A guard called.

After him came Ivy, who looked less then pleased.

"_Just _the corn, _please_." She said, her tone cold and hard. "And don't you have _anything_ green! Cabbage, maybe?"

The cook looked dumbstruck.

"Uh… Hey, Bob, we got any, uh, cabbage?"

"Nope. No cabbage."

"Uh, sorry Ms. Isly, we got no cabbage."

She rolled her eyes.

"Incompetents!" She huffed, pulling her tray away and walking angrily from the counter, back to her table.

Harley moved up after her, watching her friend storm away, a worried expression on her face.

"Gee, poor Red…" She mumbled.

Taking her tray, she resolved then and there to let Pamela have _all_ her own creamed corn.

Walking back, she glanced over her shoulder, scanning the line for her Puddin', spotting him about mid-way down, standing with his hands behind his back, rocking slightly back, then forward, a huge grin, as always, plastered across his face. He stuck out like a sore thumb, really, his exceptional height putting him nearly a full head above almost everyone around him.

She squealed in delight at his appearance before suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Back to your seat Ms. Quinzel, please." A guard instructed.

"Hmm!" She gave him a snooty look before turning, heading to sit by Red.

Three away from being served, The Joker bent forward and down, his lips inches from Jonathan Crane's ear.

"Hey, Johnny-boy, guess what!" He whispered.

The Scarecrow rolled his eyes.

"Joker, unless you wish the day to be lost _entirely_, I suggest you refrain from speaking with or to me. You are not permitted, as I am sure you are aware, to directly converse with _any _among our group ."

The Joker stood straight, his brows raised in mock confusion.

"Johnny-boy, really! I only wished to be social! Why so hostile?"

Jonathan sighed, not bothering to answer.

The Joker smiled, than shrugged.

"I just thought you might like to know, is all…"

The Scarecrow paused, than glanced over his shoulder, up at the taller man.

"Know what?" He questioned.

Again The Joker shrugged, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

"Oh, but I'm not _supposed _to be talking with you, remember?"

The Scarecrow turned more fully towards him.

"Don't be _snide_ Joker! Tell me!"

"Say the magic word and I _may_ reconsider."

Jonathan scoffed.

"I won't play your games Joker! Come on, just tell me!"

"Weeeeelll…"

"Come on!"

"Joker! Crane! Break it up! No talking!" One of the many guard's standing only feet away yelled in their direction.

Quickly Jonathan turned back around and The Joker only giggled, clasping his hands behind his back, still holding his tray, continuing to rock back and then forward.

Food was gotten fast for both of them, and while Scarecrow was allowed to move freely back to his seat, only observed, The Joker was taken by the arm, led back.

Once everyone had been served and taken their seats, soft music was streamed through the intercom speakers, instrumental Christmas tunes. This was something new. In years previous, everyone had eaten in relative silence, save for their conversing.

Some of the more sensitive patients reacted badly, screaming as though the music caused them physical pain, and had to be removed.

But overall, most everyone seemed unbothered. Some seemed even to _enjoy_ it, bobbing their heads in time to the sounds.

The Joker seemed intent on making his enjoyment _known_, singing loudly with each song, changing the lyrics as he saw fit.

It made the guard's nervous, and they glanced at each other as if to ask whether they should stop him.

But beyond a few, annoyed glances from some of the other inmates, it didn't appear as though it were going to cause a disturbance, and so they let him continue. Confrontation with The Joker was, they'd all come to learn, best avoided if possible.

"God, I'd love to put a bullet between that clown's eyes!" Two-Face muttered angrily, stabbing at his corn.

"Hey!" Harley nearly yelled. "Watch whatcha' say 'bout my puddin'!"

Harvey rolled his one good eye, shaking his head at the girl's delusion.

"When are you going to learn Girlie, he _doesn't_ care about you."

"HA! Show's what you know! Mistah J would _kill_ for me!" She argued.

"Oh, _that_ really says a lot." Ivy rolled her eyes.

"What's that 'spous to mean!" Harley turned to her in indignation.

The red head sighed.

"Nothing Harl." She said, resigned.

"He only keeps you around to show all of us how he unraveled your mind!"

"Shut it Dent!" She warned, her tone suddenly more serious then usual.

He shrugged.

"Whatever." He said, brining his attention back to his food.

Harley's scrunched her face up in annoyance before turning to look in The Joker's direction.

She let go a dreamy sigh.

"Listen to him serenadin' me." She breathed. "Ain't he sweet?"

Both Ivy and Two-Face groaned in unison.

"The idiot is up to something."

Everyone at the table turned their attention towards Jonathan.

"What?" Ivy asked.

"The Joker. He's up to something."

"What gives you that idea?" Harvey asked. "It's not the way he's acting. He's always this obnoxious."

"HEY!" Harley's voice rose this time.

She went ignored.

The Scarecrow shook his head.

"It was something he said to me, back in line."

"Oh!" Ivy cut in. "And what _did_ he say?"

Jonathan looked up at her, his eyes flashing in annoyance.

"It wasn't anything specific. The buffoon was trying to talk to me. I blew him off, telling him we were going to get in trouble."

"And?" Harvey pressed.

"He was his usual _coy_ self." Jonathan waved a hand. "He said something or other about thinking I'd like to _know_. When I pressed him on what he was talking about, he refused to answer unless I said _please_."

Ivy scoffed.

"Typical."

"I know. I refused to play his ridiculous games!" The Scarecrow rolled his eyes. "Anyway, just when I'd almost gotten him to tell me, that stupid guard interfered." He gestured towards one of the security staff.

Everyone at the table turned then to look in The Joker's direction.

He still was singing, his eyes focused on his food as he mashed it with his spork.

Suddenly he stopped singing and looked up, directly at them, smiling wide, raising his brows, as though he knew what they were talking about.

Quickly they all looked away, except Harley, who tried to catch his eye. But a moment later The Joker looked back to his food and resumed in singing.

Harley frowned, bringing her own gaze to her tray, going suddenly quiet.

Thirty minutes later, and everyone, apparently, had finished. If they hadn't, their trays were taken anyway.

Things had gone smoothly thus far, with no fights breaking out, and only an instance here and there of warning from the guard's to stay cordial.

So it was with a feeling of confidence that the kitchen staff set about arranging the table at room's center, rolling it out and standing by, ready to lift the lids covering the cookies and other, various treats for when the patients had made their way there.

All but Croc would be allowed to the display by themselves, though some would be watched closely, with guard's standing near by, just in case. It had earlier been decided that allowing the patients this act of self-decision would be good for their sense of worth and also give them a moment of self-responsibility.

"Now remember everyone…" Ms. Little again announced from the head of the cafeteria. "You'll be allowed up to the table by yourselves. There are enough snakes for each of you to take _two_. After that, you'll be expected to return to your assigned seat."

The Riddler rolled his eyes. He couldn't believe how ridiculously childish this all was and he resented the fact that they were being spoken to like children. He scoffed. Nearly every inmate in the room had a higher IQ then any among the staff. Well, except for Croc and Humpty. And a handful of them had higher IQ's then _any_ of Arkham's doctors. The whole affair was entirely degrading, he thought.

Still, others seemed excited.

Croc especially was eager as they stood him up and walked him slowly towards the table.

"You all can go on!" Ms. Little called. "Gather up behind Mr. Jones. And _please_, no pushing or shoving!"

For some minutes everyone milled about, half-heartedly shuffling towards the food.

Harley was the only one to jump from her seat, practically bounding towards the display. Ivy, Dent and Crane followed, begrudgingly.

Edward refused to move from his seat, unwilling to reduce himself to their demands. Glancing over, he saw The Joker too hadn't moved from his seat, but rather was sat back in his chair, watching with apparent interest in the proceedings.

"Croc is HUNGRY!" Croc bellowed as they finally reached the buffet.

"Easy Jones!" One of the guards warned, pulling back on his arm. "You'll get your chance."

By then, most of the room had gathered behind them and were waiting with remarkable patience.

The incentive to remain well mannered was strong, as they rarely were given the chance to socialize as they were, or even roam about in a space larger then their 6x8 cells.

The same guard who'd cautioned Croc then looked towards the staff, standing by, and nodded, indicating they could remove the lids.

They reacted promptly, each man on either side of the table reaching forward, lifting up the metal coverings.

The room filled with a gradual silence, as those closest to the display ceased talking, and quickly the quiet spread to those standing further back as they took note of the hush before them.

And then it broke.

"What the hell!" One of the security finally managed through his shock. "What's going on here!"

The kitchen staffers looked befuddled, starring blankly at the cookies, then back to the guards, shaking their heads stupidly.

"Which one of you is responsible for this!" The guard spun around, looking right to left at the patients gathered behind.

None among them answered, looking as confused as the staffers, their eyes wide.

"Someone answer me or you're all going back to your cells _right now_!"

"CROC HUNGRY!" Croc's voice suddenly rose in agitation and he lurched forward, nearly crashing in to the table as he reached for the cookies, taking up at least a dozen in his giant hands, stuffing them in to his mouth violently.

The kitchen staff fell back, alarmed by the deformed man's abrupt encroachment.

Everyone watched in stunned silence as Croc mashed the gingerbread men between his sharpened teeth, crumbs flying and spewing from lizard-like lips.

"Cookies _gooood_!" He gurgled between chewing.

And then, quickly, shock turned to amusement, and then hysterics as the room erupted in laughter and everyone moved forward, taking up one of the little men.

"Look at it!" Ivy exclaimed, breaking in to giggles.

"I-it looks just like him!" Two-Face chuckled with her.

"I think even the tally marks are numerically correct!" Jonathan joined in.

"Lemme have one!" Harley jumped forward, grabbing hold of one. Quickly she stuffed it in to her mouth. "Hey!" She remarked, still chewing. "Croc's right! These _are _good!"

The commotion continued among them as more patients took up the treats, laughing before devouring them.

"What the hell's everyone laughing about?" The Riddler had by that point stood from his seat, pushing forward against the back of the crowd.

Somehow he ended up beside Victor Zsasz, who shrugged at the question.

"Hell should I know?" He said. "But I'm gonna find out."

Edward watched as the multiple-murderer elbowed his way past other inmates, making his way to the front.

"Let me through!" He snarled. "Let me through!"

Finally he managed to break through, and standing before the table, dozens of cookies still spread out across the white cloth, he came face to face with a miniaturized, gingerbread version of himself. Little men made up in his image, countless slashed tallies across each cookie, representing his own scars. There was no mistaking the intended identity.

Almost immediately Zsasz could feel the overwhelming rage boil up inside him, his fists clenching tight, his teeth grinding together.

And all he could hear was the laughter exploding around him.

"Someone got you good, huh Zsasz!" He felt a slap on his back.

He spun around, violently.

"Shut up!" He spit. "Which one of you did it!" He looked around the inmates, his eyes ablaze in fury. "WHICH ONE OF YOU DID IT!"

And then there was laughter which rose above the rest, louder, more unrestrained, and everyone knew to whom it belonged, turning in unison, looking directly at The Joker, who tittered on his seat, bent at the waste, slapping his knee in mirth.

Zsasz raged, pushing through the crowd towards him, the guard's failing to stop him.

He came to a stop just feet from The Joker, his hands clenching so tight to fists that his knuckles had begun to turn white.

"_You_!" He hissed. "_You_ did this!"

The Joker looked up, still laughing, wiping a tear from his eye.

"I did!" He exclaimed. "Aren't they darling!"

"You dare insult _me_ this way?" Zsasz fumed. "You grinning fool! I'll kill you!"

The Joker waved a dismissive hand.

"Oh Victor, don't be so serious. It's nothing more then a harmless gag. I mean, _look_, the cookies aren't even _poisoned_." He gestured towards the table, where other inmates still chewed the little Zsasz', staring intently at the both of them.

Victor's eyes went huge, his teeth baring in a snarl.

"I'LL RIP YOUR LUNGS OUT YOU STUPID CLOWN!"

In the next moment, the serial killer had lunged himself at The Joker, latching tight to his Arkham issued singlet, pulling him viciously up out of his chair, swinging him around, letting go for him to fly across the floor, where he landed hard, sprawled out on his back, his Santa hat landing feet away.

Zsasz wasted no time , practically running at The Joker, who'd only just started to get up.

As Victor came upon him, ready to dive on top, intending strangulation, The Joker planted his foot straight in to the serial killer's abdomen, pushing up so that Zsasz went flying over head, landing in a heap behind him.

Quickly The Joker scrambled to his feet, turning to face his attacker.

"Wrong move Victor." He said, watching as Zsasz got to his feet. "Now you've made me mad."

The other inmates all stood back, eyes wide in fascination as security struggled to move past them.

"Code Red security breach!" One of the guards called over his radio. "Code Red security breach! Cafeteria! Hostile patient confrontation! A fights broken out between The Joker and Victor Zsasz! Be advised! A fight between The Joker and Victor Zsasz has broken out!"

The Joker waited for Mr. Zsasz to charge him, maneuvering away just in time, turning to watch as Victor stumbled forward, hitting nothing but air.

Victor was stronger then him. He knew that. So getting in to a grappling match probably wasn't the brightest of notions.

But then, The Joker often found himself physically outgunned. Usually it mattered little. He won his fights by outthinking his opponents. By being slicker, more tricky.

Of course, at the moment, he didn't have a great many options.

And Zsasz seemed intent on a physical confrontation.

The Joker laughed.

"You had better kill me now Victor, or you'll regret this later, I assure you."

Zsasz sneered as he turned, starring with venom at the madman before flashing his eyes left, then right, looking for some kind of weapon.

But all the utensils had been cleared away, and each of the tables and chairs were screwed tight to the floor.

He looked back.

The Joker raised his brows.

"Guess you'll just have to use what God gave you, hmm?" He chuckled.

"More than enough to take care of _you_!" Zsasz spit.

The Joker only laughed harder.

"Well then, let's have it tween-star."

Victor's face twisted in rage and he let go a primal scream, lunging forward.

This time the two killers locked and they went crashing to the ground, Zsasz on top.

He latched tight to The Joker's hair as they fell, slamming his head down against the hard rubber of the floor. The Joker grunted, brining his knee up in to Zsasz's stomach, wrapping his hands around the stronger man's wrists. Victor fell back slightly, still gripping the green hair, and then they rolled, and The Joker released his hold before raking an elbow across his attackers face.

Zsasz screamed out, but still managed to keep his grip, pulling the madman's head down, than slamming his own head forward, in to it.

The Joker fell backward and Zsasz used the opportunity to jump on top again, this time grabbing hold of the thin man's wrists and slamming them down, pinning them to the floor.

"I'll cut out your tongue and feed it to you!" He hissed.

The Joker grinned back at him, licking his lips, tasting the blood now seeping from his nose.

"And I'll talk you in to swallowing your own." He giggled.

Victor's teeth ground in anger and again he slammed his forehead against The Joker's.

The madman exploded with laughter.

"W-what's the matter Victor, sweetheart? Can't take a j-joke!"

"DAHH! Shut _up_, you pasty faced son of a bitch!" Zsasz fumed, letting go of the thin man's wrists, rearing his fist up and slamming it hard against The Joker's jaw.

But still The Joker laughed, and so Victor did it again, and again, each time eliciting only sharper hysterics, even as The Joker's face turned to a crimson mask.

"PUDDIN'!" Harley screamed from the crowd. "Somebody do somethin'! He's killin' my baby!"

"Joker don't seem to mind." Two-Face remarked calmly, keeping his eyes on the action.

"I think the sick bastard's actually enjoying it!" Ivy exclaimed.

"Of course he is." Jonathon agreed. "He thrives off just this sort of thing. Inciting volatile emotion in others. Poor Zsasz played right in to his hands."

Harley was near tears.

"B-but he's killin' him! Can't somebody do somethin'! Stupid, lousy guards! If they don't, _I_ will!" She stepped to move forward.

Ivy reached out, grabbing her by the shoulder.

"Harley, NO!" She said. "The guard's will beat you for getting involved. They're waiting for backup. Too afraid to step in, apparently, despite there being numbered at more than a dozen." Her tone was one of disgust.

"But, my puddin'!" Harley's voice broke with emotion.

Zsasz had hit The Joker near a dozen times at that point, but still the lunatic laughed, his mirth as strong as ever. And just when Victor had been ready to hit him again, he felt a searing pain in his groin, falling back, realizing seconds later that The Joker had slammed his shin up in to him.

From there the madman pushed himself to a sitting position and then up to his feet. Wiping the sleeve of his shirt across his mouth, he pulled it away to stare at the blood for a moment. And then he grinned.

"Bra-vo Victor." He said. "You've bloodied my face. But it has to be said, you've left me a tad disappointed. I warned that you should take the opportunity to kill me now or that later you'd surly regret it. But now it's too late for that. The other guards will be here soon. And there's no time left."

He kicked Zsasz across the face then, laying him on his back just as the backup came bursting through the cafeteria doors.

Within seconds they were on The Joker, billy clubs in hand, the first to reach him slamming the thick, plastic stick against the madman's back, dropping him to his knees.

The guards formed around him and as he kept his eyes on Victor they began to pummel him with their clubs. And he laughed, the sound rising above their grunts of effort.

He could hear Harley screaming in the background that it wasn't him who had started it, that they were beating up the wrong guy. And it only made him laugh harder. Because, after all, it really _was_ him who had started it, when looked at from an objective point of view. He'd have been insincere in attempting to act as though Victor's reaction was, to him, unexpected.

He knew he'd become angry.

But the prank _had_ been harmless. Done, really, only in an effort to help the man let go some of his stress. After all, The Joker reasoned, if you can't laugh at yourself, you really can't laugh at anyone.

The Joker never could appreciate anyone distinctly lacking in a sense of humor. Except, of course, for Batman. But that was different. _Entirely_ different. Zsasz was just another buffoon, regarding himself and his actions with far too much seriousness.

The Joker saw himself as trying to help the killer, and his favor is returned with what could only be defined as ingratitude.

And now… well, now he was actually _angry_.

Finally the guards had forced him to his stomach, pulling his arms behind his back, binding his wrists tight with a pair of handcuffs.

They'd already cuffed Victor, several guards stood at his side, holding each of his arms firmly.

Lifting The Joker to his feet, he kept his gaze on Zsasz, smiling, blood dripping from his lower lips, down the front of his Arkham issued singlet.

"Remember Victor." He said. "I _waaarned_ you." And then he began to laugh before being jerked back by the guards.

"That's enough outta you two!" One of them spit.

Victor just glared at him, seemingly unphased, his mouth held in a thin, hateful line.

"EVERYBODY! Because of _these _two, today's activities are _cancelled_! You're _all_ going back to your cells now!"

A collective groan was heard from the group of assembled inmates, before morphing in to bitter and angry murmurings as they were organized in to smaller groups, and led individually from the cafeteria by two or more guards each.

They roughly handled The Joker away, and Harley continued to scream in the background.

"Ya' pack a' morons!" She cried. "Stop manhadlin' my _puddin_'! It was that ugly mug Zsasz who _started_ it! He was just defendin' himself!"

She was getting out of hand, trying to pull free from the guards assigned her, and so more then came.

"Harley, calm down, or we'll be forced to use these." One of them warned, brandishing a billy club.

She wasn't listening though, continuing to struggle.

And so moments later, she too took a beating, though not as sever as The Joker's had been. It was rare any inmate ever took beatings as sever as were routinely handed out to the madman. Security at the asylum usually found themselves looking for any kind of excuse to use excessive force on him. It always was looked over by the board of review when an employee's explanation was weak, sometimes as weak as them saying The Joker had 'looked at them funny'. Almost all of them were looking to take something out on the lunatic. It was made worse by the fact that he never reacted the way they wanted him to. They wanted him to scream and beg for their mercy. But all he ever did was laugh. And so they'd beat him harder. And he'd laugh harder still.

Even so, they gave Harley a fair beating, and Ivy looked back over her shoulder at her as she was led from the cafeteria, an almost sorrowful look on her face.

Everyone else was filed out without much difficulty, The Joker and Mr. Zsasz the first to go, though the guards were sure to keep at least 20 yards between them.

It wasn't exactly unusual for these sorts of days to be cut short. Someone always seemed to get out of hand. But this time, it had happened earlier then was normally the case. And now everyone on staff was concerned that the patient's displeasure with the situation would cause trouble.

The Joker and Victor Zsasz, unfortunately, were both located in the same wing of the asylum, separated only by two doors and opposing sides of the corridor. There was nothing to stop them from talking to one another, though until today, it really hadn't ever been a problem. More or less, these two left each other alone. What possessed The Joker to suddenly do what he did, only The Joker could say for sure.

The guards had roughly thrown each of them in to their cells.

The Joker had laughed as he fell on the floor, while Zsasz raged against the barred window, spitting out all manner of profanity and threats on The Joker's life.

And then they'd been left alone, along with the four other patients to reside on this level. The Big Six, as they were referred to by Arkham staff.

"I'll kill you Joker!" Victor spit through the bars. "Do you hear me! I'll kill you!"

At this The Joker only continued in his hysterics, laughing madly.

And this went on for hours. Zsasz screaming things like 'I'm going to rip your heart out and shove it down your throat!' and 'When I get out of here, I'll make you wish you'd never been born!', and The Joker just laughing, practically wheezing in his mirth, it was so strong.

After a time, the other inmates nearby could no longer stand it and began screaming themselves.

"Shut UP you two!" Harvey raged from his cell.

"Haven't you caused enough trouble already! Our entire day, left for naught because SOMEONE couldn't go five minutes without playing a practical joke!" Jonathan chimed in.

"Be QUIET! You repulsive pigs! You're disturbing my shrub!" Ivy spit.

"I'LL KILL THE BOTH OF YA'S!" Croc screamed.

Needless to say, the volume level in Ward Nine was painfully loud throughout the rest of the day. The real problem was, and everyone there knew it, The Joker would. Not. Stop. Laughing! And not just quiet chuckling or giggles. No. He laughed _loud _and _long_ and _hard_. And Zsasz just kept screaming threats, as though it would eventually make him stop.

"Stop _encouraging _him you buffoon!" The Scarecrow had tried to plead at one point. "He'll never stop if you keep this up and we'll all end up crazier then supposedly we already are!"

"I'll kill The Joker myself Zsasz!" Harvey screamed. "Just stop _talking_ to him!"

Finally, at about 7:00 PM, Zsasz gave up, resigning to the fact that he'd have to wait until he could escape before he could teach the laughing lunatic a lesson.

Much to everyone's relief then, The Joker's hysterics eventually died down, and by 7:45 PM, the ward had gone totally silent.

9:00 PM was lights out, and generally, it seemed, at that point, everyone was happy to have the horrid day behind them. They all hoped that the peace and quiet would last through the night. Exhaustion had set in early for many among the group, from all the yelling they'd been doing.

It wasn't to be.

At 11:15 PM, exactly, The Joker had stepped to the barred window in his door, needing to stoop down slightly to look through it. Everyone thought he'd been asleep. But he hadn't. He rarely slept, and when he did, the rest was at best fitful, shallow and short. No, he hadn't been sleeping, he'd been _thinking_.

"Victor." He said in a sharp whisper. He was met with nothing but silence. "Victooor…" He whispered again, more loudly. "I know you're awake. Sleep would be impossible for someone so incensed as you."

Suddenly Zsasz called out, and The Joker could tell he too was standing by his door's window.

"You must be stupid." He said, his own voice quiet but still laced with bitter fury.

"Well hello there." The Joker answered lowly.

"I _mean_ it Joker. I'm going to kill you!" Victor spit, his voice raising only slightly.

"Oh, I have no doubt as to your sincerity." The Joker answered. "But as was explained to you earlier my dear, your chance was then and only then. You'll regret not having had the ability to make use of it."

"I don't think you understand, _clown_. I'm going to get out of here. And when I do, it'll be _you_ I'm after. And I _always_. get. my. mark."

"Oh?" The Joker sounded astonished. "Maybe you didn't get well enough a look at the batch of cookies I had made for you. I made certain to include _each and every_ tally mark Victor… Including those ones for the one's that got awaaayyy…" And then he began to giggle madly.

"I'LL KILL YOU!" Victory raged, his voice rising abruptly. And The Joker only laughed more loudly.

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" Jonathan woke.

"Not again!" Ivy moaned.

And on it went, for the remainder of the night.

/

For weeks this continued. Victor regurgitating the same promises of mutilation and death. The Joker responding in kind, often simply laughing, other times making some well placed observation about the number's obsessed serial killer, throwing him further in to a rage.

The other inmates by then had begun to complain bitterly to the security staff, practically begging them to do something to stop it, claiming they hadn't slept in the weeks since the incident.

But the guards were loath to do anything at all. Incurring the wrath of two sociopath mass murderers by getting between a so far inconsequential feud seemed an ill-advised step. They didn't get _paid_ enough to care. What's more, what _could_ they do, even if they had the desire to do it?

But the other patient's were themselves growing angry. Tensions were high. And if they didn't do something, the fear was then that the other resident's of level nine would somehow rebel, and then instead of two psychopaths out of control, they'd have six. And that was no good.

So finally, two days after New Years, the security staff concluded to put in to action a plan they'd all been discussing for the past week.

Arkahm Asylum was a place which went mostly ignored. Both by the general public and committee board alike. It was a place people felt better simply _forgetting_ about. They all preferred to keep the so-called loonies lock away. To keep them out of sight, and thus out of mind, never to be heard from again. To keep them from reminding society of just how _flawed_ it really was. The great issue with that, of course, was that the _truly_ dangerous ones always seemed to find a way to escape.

Nonetheless, because of this general attitude towards the place, it had long run rampant with patient abuse. Mostly because the security and orderlies alike felt safe in the assumption that no punishment would ever befall them. Not from the higher ups, in any case. The place was rarely inspected. Maybe once every six months a committee member would come down for a tour, under the pretense that their purpose there was to make certain standard safety protocol and health codes were being followed, as well as general guidelines set in place for patient care and handling. But really, they were there only for show. On occasion there'd be a board member interested in seeing 'the really scary ones.', they'd say, 'the ones you see on the news.'. And they'd be shown around the place, brought to the lowest levels of the asylum to gawk at the inmates as though they were circus animals, there for the viewing enjoyment of _human_ beings.

The only committee member who seemed to show any, _real_ interest in how the place was actually _run_ was Bruce Wayne, who would stop by fairly regularly, and actually _ask questions_. Nobody on the staff seemed to like him much. The guards thought he was too nosy, and the doctors viewed him as a ridiculous, air-headed playboy who had no business in the decision making for a medical facility of such high caliber, as was Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane, they would say.

When he came by, it was a silently agreed upon custom to keep as much from him as was possible.

Besides, Wayne was just one member of many, and his influence was menial, at best.

It nearly was impossible to get fired from the place, though the rate of resignations for such a facility was the highest in the country. That, however, was due to the danger presented by the inmates housed there, and that alone. Arkham was notorious for hiring almost any and everyone who applied. And there were many, attracted by the generous, weekly salaries and the severance packages offered.

Because of nearly guaranteed job security, and because it was incredibly rare anyone ever actually _inspected_ the place thoroughly, all kinds of supposedly _illegal _activities went on. Activities specifically stated to be against not only safety codes, but ethical codes as outlined for the facility.

Very often patients could be heard screaming and crying as they were dragged from their cells for what the guards liked to call "fun time". The building was large, and old. And there were various, secluded rooms throughout. Places which went unused, and unmonitored. It was here the guards would usually take those unlucky enough to have been chosen. And even then, whichever floor they happened to be on, you could often still hear the screaming and crying and pleas for mercy. The unfortunate inmate would then be brought back to their cell, often bloodied and bruised.

Nobody ever asked any questions.

Sometimes the guards would take patients down to the showers, strip them naked and shackle their wrists above their head, to the metal piping along the ceiling, and then turn the hoses on them. Sometimes they'd force the nozzle in to a patient's mouth, pressing their hand over it and then holding their nose tight, forcing them either to swallow the water or suffocate.

Early on, when The Joker had first come to Arkham, they'd done it to him, and often. More often than with anyone else. He was their preferred target.

It was because he never screamed.

No matter how long they held the nozzle in his mouth, no matter how much water they made him swallow and then watched him puke back up, no matter how long they kept the hoses on him, or how hard they _hit_ him, he never. once. screamed. Or begged them to stop. Or cried.

Everyone screamed… eventually. Everyone entreated their mercy. But not him. Not The Joker.

Instead… he laughed. Laughed as though it were the world's funniest joke. Every time.

It unnerved the guards at the time. They couldn't understand it. And their confusion then turned to anger. And so they began to abuse The Joker more often, and more brutally.

But each time, his reaction was the same.

Until one day, months in, he'd apparently become bored with the situation.

People in Arkham still told the tale of what had happened that day, in the showers.

They'd strung The Joker up, as was usual, supposedly dousing him with high pressured, freezing cold water for near five full minutes. And then, like dozens of times before that, they'd pushed the nozzle past his lips, forcing him swallow.

They'd been so consumed by their task, that none noticed when The Joker dislodged his own thumbs, dislocating them out of their joints.

He'd slipped easily out of the manacles. And then he'd killed them all. Four of them, in total. It was a literal blood bath.

He'd had no weapon, at first. But the guards had been so shocked by his suddenly being free that they'd frozen, stupidly, just staring at him. And then he'd latched tight to the one nearest him, pulling him forward, grabbing hold of his head, and with a loud crack, he'd swiftly turned it fully and forcefully around, almost all the way, and the man had fallen dead to the floor, his neck broken.

Another of the guards rushed him then, brandishing their billy, but The Joker had blocked the blow against his forearm, quickly then grabbing hold of the thick, plastic stick and jerking forward. The guard had stumbled towards him and The Joker wasted no time in smashing his forehead in to the man's own, dropping him swiftly and holding tight to the club as it slipped from his fingers.

He'd popped his right hand's thumb quickly back in to place and then spun with the weapon, just as another of the guards was nearly upon him, and cracked the stick across the man's face, putting him flat on his back.

By then the fourth guard was beginning to back away, seeing three of his comrades already fallen.

The Joker had laughed, walking fast towards the man.

He'd begun to scream for help, his voice echoing shrilly off the white, tiled walls.

And then The Joker had swung the billy, cracking it against the side of the man's skull.

He'd dropped immediately, a pathetic whimper escaping his throat.

The lunatic had lifted the club above his own head, starring at the guard for only a moment before bringing it down with force, again in to the man's skull, and again, three more times, splitting it wide, blood and brain matter spraying up, against the water slicked walls and on to The Joker himself.

He'd laughed harder still at the sight, turning quickly as he heard one of the other's groan. And from there, he'd done the same to the two left living, caving their skulls in, the water pooled on the floor turning red with their blood.

They didn't take The Joker down to the showers anymore.

Except for the purpose _of _showering.

They still beat him, but only in groups of six or more, and with the understanding that they never would pause long enough for him to relieve one of them of their weapons, and only when prompted somehow to it.

Though their standards for what warranted such treatment were _easily_ met.

They still couldn't get him to scream though.

Everyone involved wanted, if at all possible, to prevent any sort of refute, and so they'd thought long and hard about what was the best course of action to take, and had decided an actual _fight _between The Joker and Victor Zsasz seemed the most viable option. Monitored, of course.

They only hoped they'd kill each other in the process.

It was concluded that all level 8 and 9 patients would be allowed as spectators, to make up for the anger still left over from Christmas, and that the fight would take place in one of those many, unused rooms, one large enough to hold all of them, and large enough for them to spread out in a circle, leaving the center space free for the fight.

Word of the decision spread quickly through the two wards, as started by the guards themselves.

And so excitement was high, anticipation for when it might happen reaching a near fever pitch.

Zsasz in particular seemed pleased with the development, calling out to The Joker.

"You hear that clown!" He spit. "They're gonna let me out of here! I won't even have to escape now to _kill you dead_!"

Everyone waited, their breath held, awaiting The Joker's response, sure that it would come.

But none did.

It was silent from his cell, completely.

"You hear me Joker!" Zsasz finally screamed. "You hear me!"

Still nothing.

"Fucking pussy." The killer muttered, moving away from his door. "We'll settle this soon."

In the early hours of the following morning, when it still was dark out, Jonathan Crane moved to his door, when he was sure most were sleeping, and whispered sharply to the cell directly across from his.

"Joker!" He said. "I know you're awake!"

Moments of quiet past, and Jonathan thought for a second he would get no response. But then he heard The Joker's voice call across to him.

"What's up Scarechum?" He said, his voice as burdonless as ever.

"Why didn't you answer Zsasz today?" He asked. "You've been badgering him for weeks with your _insights_."

The Joker smiled, though he knew Jonathan couldn't see him.

"Sometimes silence is the most affective weapon." He answered. "But you have to know when to use it."

Jonathan was quiet for a moment.

"What are you going to do?" He finally asked. "They're going to throw you in with him."

He heard The Joker chuckle lowly.

"What I want to know is, what am _I _getting out of the deal?"

"I'm serious Joker!" Jonathan hissed. "Zsasz is dangerous. He's a very good fighter. And he's _stronger _then you. What are you going to do?"

Again The Joker laughed.

"You're concern is nothing short of endearing my dear Jonathan." He said. "I can take care of myself. Those members of security want to involve me in their little game. I'll make them sorry. Victor will be sorry with them."

"But what are you going to _do_?" The Scarecrow pressed.

"If word coming down is true, you'll be front and center to see." He answered. And then he turned away from the door. "Goodnight Jonathan."

/

The day came, two nights later, after lights out, after all the doctors had all gone home.

Ten guards came down to the level 9 corridor and from there began gathering the inmates out of their cells, filing them in to ordered lines, explaining to each what was going on.

They were told they would be brought to a room, located on the same floor, just off of the east wing, where they would proceed to act as an audience for, as they put it, a 'sanctioned boat'. Two guards each were assigned to escort Jonathan, Harvey and Pamela to the room. Killer Croc was left in his cell.

Once they'd gotten them out, the four remaining guards split in to two groups, one each going to Victor's and The Joker's cell doors.

Victor had been standing, his face against the barred window. His eyes were wide, alight with his insanity.

"Victor, stand back, face the wall." One of the men ordered.

The killer complied without complaint.

"Now place your hands flat against the wall, where I can see them. That's good. We're coming in."

"You know what we're here for." The other guard mentioned.

Zsasz only nodded, allowing them without protest to cuff his hands behind his back and lead him out of the cell.

Leaving the corridor, he glanced back over his shoulder, to the other two guards, who still stood at The Joker's cell door, talking to him.

"_Heh_." Zsasz thought. "_Must be too scared to come out_. _Don't blame him. I'd be scared too, if I were him_."

"Joker! I _said_, up against the wall, hands spread. Do it _now_!"

The Joker flicked his eyes up, towards the barred window. He was lying on his cot, his hands behind his head.

He smiled.

"I'm warning you Joker." The guard continued. "Unless you want another beating, you'll do as we say."

Suddenly The Joker erupted in to laughter.

"Come in and get me, why don't you?" He said through his mirth.

"Up against the wall and we will."

The Joker shook his head.

"No, no. Come in and _get_ me. I have no weapon. See?" He held out his hands from behind his head, than lifted his shirt up, revealing his thin, stark white torso. "No need to be frightened."

The two men just stood there, staring in.

Again The Joker smiled.

"Oh, you are! Well that's just too bad." He said. "And here I thought we were all friends."

"What are ya, scared Joker?" The other guard accused.

The madman only smiled more broadly.

"Steven, isn't it?" He asked. "How _long_ have you been working here Steven? Three months? I understand Steven, the perils of working in a place like this. And you're so young, not near old enough to deserve having your life cut short by some crazed lunatic like me. Damned be those voices in your head, telling you you're not tough enough. Better safe than sorry, Steven. Better safe than sorry."

"Man, fuck this!" The guard cursed. "Let's just go in and get him!"

"I… I don't know man." The other said. "Tom said we gotta' follow procedure."

"Fuck that man." Steven went on. "This clowns givin' me a headache _and _if we don't get his ass down there soon, the other crazies are gonna' get restless. Come on man, he ain't got nothin' on him!"

The second guard looked unsure, but finally he relented.

"Alright." He said, taking out his key card, sliding it along the electronic pad.

It beeped loudly and moments later the locks whooshed open.

The two men entered the cell quickly, going straight towards The Joker.

They handled him roughly to his feet, pulling him up off the cot. As they were doing so The Joker stumbled forward, crashing in to Steven.

"Woops!" He laughed.

"Get off me clown!" The guard raged, pushing The Joker away before grabbing hold of him again, spinning him round and pulling his arms behind his back. Reaching for his belt, he quickly produced handcuffs, which he then slapped down on to the madman's wrists.

"Now move!" He spit, maneuvering The Joker around towards the door and then shoving him forward.

The Joker laughed gleefully as he started out of the cell and they led him down the corridor, towards the room where everyone had gathered.

/

Opening the doors was like being hit by a wave of sound.

Two dozen Arkham inmates were gathered round in a circle, nearly all of them screaming and hollering. At least ten guards more then that stood along outside them, batons and tazzers in hand.

Their voices only rose louder when they marched The Joker in, and he smiled around at them.

"Stand aside! Stand aside!" Steven ordered, clearing a path past the patients, to the inside of the crowd.

There Victor stood, his cuffs already removed, his face twisted in to a scowl.

The Joker grinned wide at him.

"Finally got you outta' your cell, did they?" Zsasz chuckled.

"Indeed Victor, they did." The Joker answered.

"Too bad for you."

The Joker smirked at him as they removed his cuffs.

His attention was caught by the sound of a voice somehow rising above the rest and glanced to his side, seeing Harley, jumping up and down like some psychotic cheerleader.

"Yeah Mistah. J! You get em'! She screamed. "Show em' what for!"

He smiled at her and she squealed loudly, which only made him laugh.

"There's no way he can beat Zsasz." Harvey said behind her. "Not in a one on one fight."

Harley turned around, looking up at him with real anger in her eyes.

"Show's what you know!" She spit. "My puddin's the baddest man on the planet!"

Harvey scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah!" Harley put her hands on her hips. "I don't never see you messin' with him!"

Harvey just glared at her before turning his eyes away, back to The Joker and Zsasz.

"Ha." Harley laughed, turning back around, continuing on in her cheering.

"In any other situation, I'd go with The Joker." Ivy chimed in. "When Joker can plan, he's a handful for anyone. He's like the Bat in that way." She added with a hint of distain. "But he has nothing now but his own two fists. There's been no time for him to prepare for anything then an actual, physical altercation. I'm afraid Harv's right doll. It doesn't look good for him."

"You're crazy." Harley interjected. "My puddin's _always _got a plan!"

"Yes." Jonathan said. "She's right about that. The Joker _does_ always have a plan."

Everyone looked at him, expressions of astonishment on their faces.

"What?" The Scarecrow asked, almost defensively. "It's not as though I've complimented the fool! It's simply a matter of fact! Take it from one who's had the misfortune of _working_ with him."

At the center of the inmates, Zsasz and The Joker stared at one another as the guards explained to them the "rules".

"The only rule is, you keep it to each other! This is between you and him!" The man pointed first to Victor, then The Joker. "Understand? No attackin' the other patients. If _either_ of you gets outta hand, we'll tazzer your asses so hard, you'll be eatin' outta' a tube for months! Got it?"

The Joker laughed.

"Applying rules to any situation seems such a senseless endeavor. Don't you think?" He said, never taking his eyes from the scarred serial killer.

"I _mean_ it Joker!" The same guard gave him a shove on his shoulder. "No fuckin' around!"

The Joker turned to him, looking down in to his face, bearing his teeth in a grin.

"Of course not."

The man swallowed hard, stepping back.

"Alright. When we say go, that's when you go." He said.

Quickly, all the guards assigned to the inner circle stepped back, creating a perimeter between the two fighters and the rest of the inmates.

"I'm gonna enjoy tearing you apart." Victor seethed, his hands already clenching to fists in anticipation.

The Joker cocked his head to the side.

"Don't let Batsy hear you say that Victor. He may become jealous. And we _both_ know what he's like when he's jealous." He laughed.

Zsasz was about to reply, his face having twisted in to disgust, when suddenly one of the guards yelled "Go!".

The Joker's reaction was fast. Victor had let his insinuation get to him and so was left unprepared for the start. He wasn't able to react quickly enough when the madman stepped forward, swinging his arms up and in, boxing Zsasz's ears, hard.

Zsasz stumbled backward, discombobulated, his ears ringing and The Joker wasted no time, stepping in and nailing him with an uppercut.

Victor again stumbled back, but managed somehow to stay on his feet, holding his hand to his already bloodied mouth.

And when The Joker again stepped in, ready to strike, Victor lunged toward him, screaming as he did so, wrapping his arms around the lunatic's torso and pushing forward, slamming him to the ground.

The air went from The Joker's lungs upon impact, and he laughed out loud, his mirth coming as a wheeze.

"Keep laughin' clown!" Victor raged.

"Oh I w-will!" The Joker continued in his hysterics, the laughter coming more strongly as the air rushed back in.

Zsasz postured up then, hailing down punches on the madman's face.

With each blow The Joker only laughed harder.

He could hear Harley in the background, screaming above the noise of the other patients. Screaming for him to get up.

He laughed some more.

"C-come on Vic!" He managed between his hysterics. "Y-ya gotta' _really_ lay in to me!"

Zsasz's anger grew, and he bore down harder on his punches.

After a time of getting punched repeatedly in the face, The Joker actually rolled his eyes.

"_No creativity_." He thought, bored, before quickly reaching up and grabbing hold of Zsasz's nose, squeezing tight and twisting violently.

Victor yelled out in pain, falling back, The Joker using the space to sit up, still holding tight to the killer's nose as he placed his palm flat against Zsasz's chest and pushed him away.

Quickly he got to his feet, finally releasing Victor's nose as he stood fully erect, and as Zsasz was still on his knees, The Joker kicked him hard, across the face, laying him on his back.

"God, what a bore this is Victor." He said, though he was sure he couldn't be heard above the crowd, who by now were screaming so loudly it would be hard for any _normal_ person to think. The Joker had no trouble though. His head was _always_ filled with loud noise.

"I mean, are you _really_ this unimaginative?" He walked around the killer as he struggled on the floor to sit up. "Punching me in the face? And not even _hard _punches, dear. You have to remember, at this point I'm very much adapted to taking blows from trained martial artists and the like. People who really _know_ how to get their weight in to it! Those felt like pity-pats darling. And besides, didn't you learn back in the cafeteria how little such things bother me? I'd have thought a professional killer like yourself would know of more effective ways to inflict _pain_."

He again went to kick Zsasz as he finally managed to lift himself up.

"Shut UP!" Victor spit, grabbing hold of The Joker's foot as it came in, twisting it round, causing the lunatic to lose his footing and go down.

The killer quickly rose, moving fast towards The Joker, before he too could get up.

Victor reached down, grabbing hold of the madman's shirt and pulling him to his feet before sinking his fist deep in to his stomach.

The Joker doubled over, chocking out.

Victor smiled, but it quickly faded as the lunatic's cough slid fast in to more laughter.

"T-that's more like it Victor." He wheezed.

Zsasz's face twisted in rage and he grabbed hold of The Joker's shirt with both hands then, swinging him around and letting go, letting him land hard against the floor, sliding back, in to a row of guards. They stepped back slightly as The Joker rolled to his side, pushing himself to his hands and knees.

Before he could get to his feet, Victor was upon him again, this time latching tight to his hair and pulling him up, backhanding him across the face, first one way, then the other, splitting his lips wide before once more swinging him around and letting go.

The Joker landed hard against his shoulder this time, pain ripping down his arm, the sensation causing his mirth to grow.

Each time he laughed, Victor grew more incensed, and he didn't wait, practically running at the lunatic while he still lay on the floor, kicking him viciously in the stomach.

The Joker curled in on himself, half wheezing, half giggling.

"O-ohh-oh, that s-smarts Victor!" He sputtered.

Zsasz came in again, this time raking his foot across the madman's face, turning him over, on to his back.

Still high pitched laughter poured from The Joker's throat and Zsasz once more reached for him.

"Why won't you stop _laughing_!" He hissed, lifting him by the hair again and off the floor.

The Joker licked his lips, lapping his own blood on to his tongue.

"Because Victor. It's _funny_!" He chuckled, hanging limply from the killer's hands.

Zsasz jerked him forward, so that their faces were mere inches from each others.

"We'll see how _funny _you think it is when I take your _eyes_ clown!" He whispered harshly. "You think you can make fun of _me_ and get away with it! All your weeks of taunting have only made me _angrier_ Joker! And now you'll see how grave your mistake was!"

Ivy pulled her gaze from the action, glancing over at Harley. This wasn't looking good for The Joker at the moment. And though she couldn't care less about what happened to that lunatic, Harley was her friend, and she feared her reaction should anything, truly bad befall him.

Sure enough, Harley's expression was one of sudden, unmitigated fear. She'd grown silent, her fingers curled in to her mouth as she bit her nails, her eyes huge with worry.

Ivy frowned, looking back to the action.

"You stupid clown." She whispered under her breath. "You'd better have something up your sleeve."

The other inmates looked on in sheer fascination, the noise level remaining at a fever pitch.

The Joker was smiling back at Victor, blood pouring steadily from his mouth.

"You know what your problem is Victor?" He laughed. "You can't take a joke. You know, if you can't laugh at yourself, you can't laugh at anyone, really."

Zsasz's teeth ground together and he growled in anger as he grabbed hold of The Joker's face, squeezing tight.

The noise in the place seemed to grow to a crescendo then as it looked like The Joker would be unable to break free from Zsasz's grasp.

Again Ivy glanced over at Harley, who now had tears streaming down her little face.

"Damnit." She whispered, looking back.

Zsasz was bearing down hard now, staring unflinching in to The Joker's eyes as he squeezed tighter and tighter, and though intent on crushing his face.

The Joker stared back, equally unflinching despite the pain radiating throughout him. And then he smiled.

"You're not playing for blood Victor." He whispered.

For a moment, confusion flickered across Zsasz's face.

And then there was a flicker of a movement below him.

He glanced down, only briefly, and in the moment to follow, The Joker had raised his hand up.

Victor only vaguely registered that he held something before he was hit in the face with a fine mist. Seconds later his eyes began to burn like fire and his grip loosened completely on The Joker as he fell backward, screaming and clawing at his face.

The Joker threw down whatever he'd been holding, stalking fast towards Zsasz.

"What the hell is that!" One of the guards screamed.

"It looks like mace!" Another yelled.

"Mace! Where the hell did he get mace!"

As the guard's fumbled about in their confusion, The Joker reached to his waistband, producing from it a tazzer while continuing to move towards Victor, who still was staggering backward in apparent agony.

"When you play with me Victor, you play for blood." He went on. "You should know that by now."

An instant later he was upon the numbers obsessed killer, swinging the fist holding the tazzer up in to Zsasz's stomach, making it look like a punch. The electric shock couldn't even be heard over the crowd. But Zsasz went down like a sack of potato's and he began to convulse violently on the floor.

The Joker laughed loudly, jumping up before falling on to Victor, his knees planted on either side of his torso.

"You like that Victor?" He smiled, whispering lowly. "How about some more?"

He dug the tazzer in to Zsasz's side and the killer jerked violently in response, strange sounds gurgling out from his throat.

Again The Joker erupted in to laughter. And then he dropped the weapon to the floor, brining his hands around Victor's throat and squeezing tight.

Victor began to chock and sputter as the pressure built against his wind pipe and he clawed weakly at The Joker's arms and face.

The Joker's mirth only became stronger at Zsasz's attempts to defend as he increased the pressure on his throat, bearing down, intent on crushing it.

"Jesus Christ!" A guard cried out. "He's got a tazzer!"

"What!"

"A tazzer. He's got a tazzer!"

All the guards looked, finally bringing their attention away from the mace and noticing the object The Joker had dropped beside himself.

Victor's eyes had begun to roll back in to his head, and he was beginning to black out from the lack of oxygen when a dozen guards came rushing in, crashing in to The Joker, piling on to of him.

The Joker absolutely crowed with laughter, the sound audible even above the crowd's screams as he was pinned down and restrained.

"Somebody check on Zsasz!" One of the men cried.

"He's unconscious but breathing!" Another of them shouted, bent over Victor.

The other inmates were going wild talking amongst each other and howling in excitement. Loudest of all was Harley, who could barely contain herself as she leapt up and down, his voice pitching even higher as she screamed "I told ya so!"

"Jesus Christ, the crazy clown…" Two-Face said in shock. "Where the hell'd he get the weapons?"

"I told ya! Mistah J can do anything!" Harley answered, not bothering to turn around.

Jonathan looked on in both contempt and fascination.

"Where indeed?" He questioned.

"Hmm." Ivy smirked, feeling relief for Harley, though she never would admit it. "I've got to hand it to him. He handily outsmarted Zsasz. That scarred up buffoon would be dead right now if it weren't for these guards."

"Well is it really any surprise?" Jonathan again began. "As much as it pains me to say it, denial never got anyone anywhere. The Joker, though _obnoxious_ he is, is every bit as intelligent as those IQ tests of his say. One has to admire his trickery, in fact. It's not being the strongest or the most adept in combat which wins you fights, is it? No. It's whoever is the smartest. And, very clearly, Joker was the smarter of the two. He _could_ have unleashed the mace and tazzer on Victor from the onset. But as all of us here _know_, The Joker's blatant disregard for his own safety may be the only thing which holds him back. Sometimes it's as though he's _trying_ to get killed. He gave Victor all the opportunity needed to do the deed, but the poor fool let his desire to torture The Joker get in the way or his actually killing him. He wanted him to suffer for all of the suffering Joker's put him through these last, several weeks, with his taunts and verbal insults. The Joker could see that desire, grew tired of the 'game', as he would refer to it , and decided then to show Victor how it's really done. An impressive performance indeed."

He stood gazing as the guards lifted The Joker to his feet, his hands now cuffed tightly behind his back. Several others were carrying Zsasz out of the room, making a path through the patients. And he noticed suddenly the voices around him had gone silent, and when he looked, Ivy, Two-Face and Harley were all staring at him, slack jawed.

"What!" The Scarecrow nearly shouted, looking suddenly defensive.

Harvey shrugged.

"Nothing. It's just, I never knew you looked up to laughing boy so much."

"I _don't_!" Jonathan spit. "I merely am stating facts. If you choose to live in denial over The Joker's capabilities, then that, Harvey, is your own loss. And woe be on to you if ever you should find yourself entangled in battle with the clown, for you will be going in hampered by a vast misunderstand and ignorance of what you face."

Two-Face looked stunned for a moment. But his expression quickly morphed to a scowl.

"Why you skinny little shit!" He raged. "I oughta ring your neck!"

Jonathan smiled.

"Oh, but Harvey, you don't have your coin! And you know as well as I do you can't make such a decision without it."

Harvey could feel his hands clenching tight in to fist, his teeth grinding together. He was about to retort when he was shaken from it by the loud sound of laughter, and glancing away, he saw The Joker was standing not 2 feet from where they stood, being handled roughly along by the guards. 

"_Extolling_ my _virtues_ Johnny?" The Joker chuckled, eyeing all of them. "I _told_ you I had a plan."

"I never doubted you for a minute puddin'!" Harley beamed.

The Joker glanced down at her, but only briefly before brining his eyes back to The Scarecrow, and then to Two-Face, and he just smiled.

And then he was shoved violently from behind by one of the guards, stumbling forward, a peel of laughter escaping his throat.

/

Later, when all of the chaos had finally died down, it was discovered that Steven Roger's, the guard who had led The Joker from his cell to the room in which the fight had taken place, was missing both his can of mace and his tazzer, and it was only then that he, along with the guard who had helped him, realized that The Joker had lifted the items off him when they'd gone in to his cell and he'd 'accidentally' stumbled in to him.

Steven felt like a fool, and the other guards helped him in that feeling, scolding him for allowing The Joker to talk him in to coming in when he wasn't stood with his hands pressed flat against the wall. But other then suffering embarrassment, Steven didn't lose his job or even come under questioning from the higher ups over how it was The Joker had gotten hold of not one, but _two_ weapons which, in his hands, could very easily have become lethal, or in the very least, permanently damaging. And that was because no one on the security staff was permitted to _ever_ speak about what had happened to _anyone _outside those who already knew. It wasn't that they'd allowed inmates to fight which concerned them. That in itself wouldn't have been near enough for them to lose their jobs. It was the fact that The Joker had, for however short a time, been _armed_. Them allowing _that_ to happen would have been enough.

As for Zsasz and The Joker, they each had spent a short amount of time in Arkham's infirmary, for treatment of their injuries. It was made certain they were kept in separate wings of the building, and shortly after were each brought back to their cells, The Joker before Victor.

Zsasz didn't say much in the weeks following. In fact, he said nothing at all, remaining totally silent. The Joker, in turn, while still as talkative as ever, addressed only the staff as they came through the corridor, nurses, orderlies and guards alike, as well as other patients. It seemed as though he no longer had any interest in engaging Victor.

And Victor was glad for it.

He was deeply embarrassed by what had happened, and would just as soon have liked to forget it ever did. He hoped, in time, everyone else would forget too, and that his reputation wouldn't suffer any permanent damage.

And as the weeks wore on, he found himself again growing content, once the jibes from other patients had ceased. And he felt, for the first time since the fight, that he might actually be capable of letting the incident go and regaining his old confidence from before. He was quite sure he would, in fact, and he smiled at the thought, staring up at the ceiling from his cot, his hands rested behind his head. He breathed out evenly. Yes. He was sure.

And just like that, the regained peace was shattered, as he heard The Joker's voice calling out from across the hall.

"Hey, Victor! How's the stress? If it ever gets to be too much, I've heard that _cutting_ yourself can be a great means of relief!"

Zsasz's agonized scream rang out from his cell, bouncing off the corridor walls, traveling all the way to its end, only overtaken by the sound of The Joker's laughter, loud and full with malicious glee.


End file.
